A Fine Pairing
by A. G. Moria
Summary: Q: What do you do when a teenage immortal is constantly bitching about food and is making a mess in the Nightmare King's kitchen? A: Take him on a picnic, give him food and he'll shut the hell up.


**Hey people of Fanfiction, I'm back with a little one shot to ensure that you people don't get the idea I'm dead or lying in a ditch waiting to die or something like that. **

**Oh and I'm not that much in favor of the whole Black Ice pairing but I like cute stories and slashings with Pitch and Jack but that's as far as I'll go. **

**So I'll only make a one shot pairing like this one but I probably won't go into any chapter stories with these two together, but even then I don't write or read these that often.**

**So with all of that said and done, here's the one shot.**

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Pitch Black didn't have a world-class, fancy-ass kitchen, but before today, it had never bothered him. Hell, he'd never really thought about it. He had enough food to keep him alive, enough wine to keep him from going insane, his refrigerator was reliable, and his sink generally did what it was supposed to do after Pitch took a hammer to it a few times.

It was all he needed to get by on.

But apparently, it wasn't what Jack Frost, the Guardian of Fun, needed. Hell, it wasn't even close. What Jack demanded in a kitchen and what Pitch could provide were about as distant as the sun and countless other galaxies Pitch had ruled over before his first major defeat.

"Seriously... the only cheese you have smells like shit"! Jack complained rather loudly as Pitch merely stared at him from the kitchen table he currently sat at.

"And?" Pitch replied in a tone that said nothing more than I don't give a shit.

"And it's that fancy Europe cheese that I don't eat"! Jack poked the cheese but then quickly wiped his finger on his pants.

Then Jack chucked the fancy cheese into a trash can that stood in the corner of the room. He then went back to exploring Pitch's fridge. Not that there was much to explore. The shelves were sparse, and most of what peopled the fridge was either unknown to Jack or on his icky list.

"How long has this been in here?" Jack pulled out a silver dish and opened it up to reveal a fully cooked fish. "Oh wait… I hate it when people keep the head on it". The silver dish and the fish then joined the fancy cheese in the trash can.

Pitch rolled his eyes at the teenager. "I didn't know you were here to clean my kitchen. Want to do the dishes when you're done"?

Jack popped out of the fridge long enough to eye the sink full of dirty plates, cups, utensils, and even an errant beer bottle or two that had found its way in. Apparently the Nightmare King wasn't too concerned if he got rats or not. "I'm making lunch, so you're cleaning your own mess up".

"No, you're not making lunch, you're bitching. And you're bothering the hell out of me, so why don't you stop? We can...go to Italy or Spain if you're really that hungry".

The look on Jack's face suggested Pitch had told him to go and lick the bathroom floor for sustenance. Which, considering what Jack thought of eloquent dishes and fine dining, wasn't too far off the mark.

"There's an old saying, Pitchy: 'The French, they say, live to eat. The English, on the other hand, eat to die.' You eat to suffer, apparently," Jack said, slamming the refrigerator door.

Pitch crossed his arms. "Well excuse me for not doing my shopping at Whole Foods. I don't even think there's one near Burgess, Jackson".

"There apparently aren't any grocery stores, farmers' markets, or hippie communal gardens, either. You have nothing edible anywhere, including in your liquor cabinet," Jack replied.

"Stay the hell away from my wine, you miserable cur"! Pitch gave a warning growl to the teenage immortal.

"Oh don't worry, Pitchy," Jack reassured the dark king. "I look too young to drink even though I'm over three hundred years old, but most of your wine looks like shit".

Most people would have cowed away in blind terror at the thought of upsetting the Nightmare King, but Jack was not most people. He glared at Frost, and, keeping his eyes on the demon that plagued his immortal life, pointed towards the front door. "Get out before I kick your ass out the door. This little date of yours is over, Jack".

Jack merely stuck his tongue out at the Nightmare King while waving his hands above his head like a child.

Without another word, Pitch snapped his fingers and disappeared. The moment he was gone, Jack turned around and accidently kicked the cabinet behind him. That only sent a sharp pain up his leg, so now partially limping, but swearing with no handicaps, Jack stormed from the kitchen clearly upset over Pitch's attitude towards him and his taste in food.

Jack returned five minutes later with a can of paint and a brush. He opened the refrigerator door and couldn't help but take note of how fully stocked Pitch's fridge truly was. Every single thing looked like it was made by some professional chef in some foreign country that specialized in food making.

The Guardian of Fun then took a deep breath, managed to drive down the urge to drag the entire refrigerator, contents and all, outside and burn it, and decided to get to work on the paint job.

Satisfied from knowing that Pitch Black's fridge was now painted pink with little ponies running up and down on it, Jack put the paintbrush down. So once again he was bored and that merely left him to think.

"_This ought to teach that no-account, shadowy bastard for trying to feed me shitty cheese"._ Jack though and then he suddenly thought about something else. Did the Nightmare King know about Jack's favorite kinds of food? Did Pitch forget that Jack loved to devour sweets, sandwiches and cookies, because Jack would be more than happy to remind him of what he loved to eat.

"Now I could be wrong, but I think that you want me to murder you".

Jack dropped his paint can and let a slight frown appear on his face. If it hadn't been all-but-empty, it would have left a pink trail as it rolled across the kitchen. Still clutching the brush, as though he intended to swipe it across Pitch's grey face and make it colorful—a motion Jack couldn't quite count out—Jack turned to the front of the kitchen.

Pitch stood there with, of all the ridiculous things, a picnic basket in his hands. A large, ribbon-wrapped, wicker picnic basket. It was the most picturesque picnic basket the Guardian of Fun had ever seen.

"I thought you went out," Jack said.

"I'm sorry".

Jack's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Though it pains me—no, it does, it's like pure sunlight being poured on my face—to say it, I will repeat myself once and only once: I'm sorry," Pitch clenched his teeth as he hissed out the words. The Nightmare King then held the picnic basket out hopefully.

Pitch didn't apologize. Nightmares didn't admit they were assholes. The Nightmare King didn't come bearing cutely-wrapped gifts of food. Nightmares scared the living shit out of people and tired to kill the Guardians and then try to plunge the world into another Dark Age.

Though for the life of him, Jack Frost could not figure out how such a goddamn gorgeous picnic basket with a ribbon could be evil or even remotely evil.

"I enjoy your company, Jackson—though your hygiene habits don't make it easy for me to put up with you most of the time—and I'd like to present you with this little offering. Now shall we enjoy it together?" Pitch held the basket with his left hand, and extended his right hand, shaking it to encourage Jack to take it. Jack Frost wasn't one for going anywhere hand-in-hand with the Nightmare King, but, damn, something in that picnic basket smelled like a little piece of heaven that got Jack's mouth to water right away.

Reluctantly Jack placed his hand in Pitch's grey hand. It was, Jack realized, the first time he'd held hands with the lithe man without getting scolded or getting his hand swatted away. They'd done...things...but somehow this gesture felt more intimate. Pitch's hand was slightly heated and smooth, almost but not quite feminine in its qualities. As for his own hand, Jack supposed he felt like holding hands with an ice cream pop.

"Try not to let go," Pitch said.

Before Jack could even so much as ask why, the poorly lit kitchen flashed in front of his eyes, and, just as he opened his mouth to demand what the hell sort of trick the Nightmare King was pulling, a whole new environment materialized before him. A beach, palm trees, humidity and not a snow bank or gray cloud in sight, but instead a starry night sky looked down upon them from above. They definitely weren't in Pitch's dark, evil lair anymore.

"What was that?" Jack asked.

"One of the perks of being the Nightmare King. Or your case, Jackson, the Nightmare King's-"

"Don't say boyfriend," Jack interrupted him.

"Does consort sit better with you, Frost?" Pitch looked at him with his silvery/golden eyes staring right into Jack's icy blue ones.

Jack decided not to get into another tiff with Pitch, especially not over the right term for what they were. If such a term possibly even existed. Which the Guardian of Fun highly doubted.

"The Nightmare King's whatever you want to call it. So, your dark majesty, where are we?" Jack finally asked.

"California. I thought about Peru, but didn't want you to die of culture shock," Pitch replied, setting down the picnic basket but maintaining his grip on Jack's pale hand.

"What the hell are we doing in California"? Jack whined.

"Having a picnic. I thought I made that pretty clear, Jackson".

"Why did we have to go all the way to some random beach in California"?

"Because, thanks to you, Burgess is buried under two feet of snow, and after that much winter, even I need to thaw," Pitch stated.

"Pitch, I'm not exactly dressed for the beach, and I'm not exactly made for the beach". Jack raised his arms to show his blue hoodie and pale skin that could easily be sun burned.

"No you aren't are you"? Pitch smirked. "Although, that's why I brought you here at night, so I wouldn't burn and you wouldn't melt. Besides, I am not dressed for the beach either but you don't see me complaining, especially considering this is a nude beach so I guess we both aren't dressed for _this_ beach".

Jack yanked his hand away from Pitch Black. "No freaking way we're doing this."

Pitch merely smirked once again. "Calm down, Jackson. It isn't a nude beach—though, since it's privately owned, it _could_ be however".

Jack quickly decided to keep his distance, just in case Pitch started disrobing himself. Though, the Nightmare King showed no indication of getting buck-ass naked; he was too busy opening the picnic basket and pulling, like a magician's scarf, a black beach blanket from the basket. Pitch then unfolded the blanket and laid it out on the golden sand. Once there was a layer of protection between the cool sand and his silk-like robe, Pitch sat down. He pulled the basket onto the blanket, and removed from it a pair of plates, two wineglasses, and twin cutlery sets.

"Is that thing bigger on the inside or something"? Jack asked him. "Like Mary Poppins's magical bag"? He still warily drifted on the periphery, as though the blanket was quicksand, though now that the basket was open, the scents drifting from it were all the more intense and mouth-watering. Jack began to feel like a character in an old cartoon, physically lifted up and drawn in by the smell of a fresh-baked pie placed on a window sill.

"Why don't you come over here and see"? Pitch patted the blanket next to him.

Jack simply shrugged. What else could he do? He was a thousand miles from home, on a secluded beach with a demented Nightmare King, and, truth be told, he was pretty hungry at the time being. Careful not to kick sand onto Pitch's blanket, Jack took a seat where Pitch indicated him to sit.

Now that Jack had joined him, Pitch could finally pass out the food. From the inside of the basket Pitch produced a bottle of fine wine—it had a name Jack couldn't begin to pronounce—and poured a glass for both of them. He then re-corked the bottle, set it aside, and brought out something the Guardian of Fun was much more familiar with: pizza.

"Do you see this, Jack"? The dark king questioned, setting a plate with a pizza on Jack's lap. "This is called a _compromise_."

"I call it pepperoni pizza with little bits of ham on top of it, but hey whatever helps you sleep at night". The teenager replied. He took up the rather large slice of pizza into his right hand and was inches from stuffing it into his face when he noticed that Pitch's plate was still empty. "Hey where's yours"?

Pitch then looked into the basket and the expression on his face suggested he was having second thoughts. It wasn't like he could go back now, though. With Jack Frost watching, Pitch Black had no choice but to reach into the basket and remove his own greasy slice of pizza.

Jack would be the first to admit he wasn't a classy or sophisticated person, but he'd never seen anyone do what Pitch did. The dark king set his pizza down and proceeded to cut it into tiny, bite-sized pieces. Using a fork, he then jabbed the smallest bit of the Italian food and, with a grimace of pain, put it in his mouth.

"Pitch… it isn't arsenic," Jack said with a slight grin on his face.

"I beg to differ," Pitch sourly replied.

"Wimp".

"Ignoramus".

"Booger-man".

Pitch Black looked like someone had just shined a direct beam of sunlight right in his face and poked him with stick. "What the hell did you say?" He hissed out.

"Booger-man". Jack had hoped he'd said it as loudly as the first time, because, at the venom crawling around in Pitch's voice, he found himself suddenly very nervous.

Pitch's eyes flashed like the intense yellow in the flames of a fire and Jack quickly wondered to himself if he hadn't gone too far. He didn't want to back down, but he didn't want to be dragged to hell, or someplace like hell, either.

Unable to look at Pitch's blazing eyes for long, Jack looked for anything else to which he could fix his blue eyes upon. He settled on his wine glass which was still quite full due to the fact Jack hadn't taken a sip yet. While Pitch continued to burn with indignation, the Guardian of Fun hastily lifted his glass and chugged.

This didn't make the dark king the slightest bit happier.

"That wine is older than you, Frost"! Pitch snapped like a cobra.

Jack Frost then found himself blushing. He was a decent companion, a damn good snowball fighter, and the best excuse for a snow day, but there were dogs that knew more about fine food and wine than he did. Even if he did live in the tops of trees most days, and in a state with no Whole Foods stores, being this coarse and tasteless was still plain embarrassing. Especially with Pitch Black, who had more class in the strings of his silky socks than Jack had in his whole existence, looking on like that.

"Sorry," Jack mumbled underneath his breath.

The demonic glow faded from Pitch Black's eyes. He sighed. "No, Jackson, it was my fault. This," Pitch then lifted his own wine glass, "is me. And _this_," Pitch motioned towards the mutilated pizza on Jack's plate, "is you. Wine can't become pizza, and pizza can't become wine not matter what one may try to get the two to be the same".

"But...they can complement each other, can't they?" Jack hesitantly asked the dark king. He was vaguely aware of hearing of such things as matching wine to food, probably from infomercials.

The Nightmare King paused for a few seconds and gave Jack Frost an appraising look. "Yes, they can. Given the right pairing of course".

"And is this the right pairing, right"? Jack questioned him.

Pitch considered his full wine glass, but then a much better idea popped into his devilish mind. "There's only one way to judge, Jackson".

The Nightmare King and the Guardian of Fun apparently had very different ideas as to what that one way was, because as Pitch Black leaned in for a kiss, Jack Frost reached for the bottle of wine. Pitch ended up with his nose pressed against the thick hoodie on Jack's right shoulder, and Jack ended up feeling like even more of a moron.

"Sorry," Jack mumbled for the second time in five minutes.

"Good, you should be, because that was your fault in the first place". Pitch Black then plucked the bottle of wine from Jack's pale hand, stood up, and pitched the bottle into the ocean. To ensure that Jack wouldn't be distracted by anything else, Pitch hurriedly packed everything except the black blanket back into the basket, and then slammed the lid to the basket without uttering a single word.

The moment the basket was closed, the Nightmare King threw himself on top of Jack Frost. The Guardian hadn't been expecting the surprise attack, and he fell backward. Luckily the sand and blanket cushioned the impact of their two bodies colliding together.

Thanks to the failed attempt that had left Pitch eating Jack's blue hoodie, Jack knew what Pitch wanted, and resisted the instinct to roll or try to recover when bowled over by the dark king. He endured the weight of the Nightmare King as Pitch grabbed him by the shoulders and, forcing him deeper and deeper into the golden sand, kissed him fervently.

By the time they broke apart, Jack was left gasping for air. Pitch, it seemed, didn't need to breath, and while Jack panted, Pitch smacked his lips. The sweet, peppery taste of the fine wine and the greasy pizza lingered on his tongue.

It was a very nice pairing indeed and in the end it did work out.

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**Hmm… Yeah… this ending seems nice. What do you guys think? Does this pairing go together? Heheh, well maybe it does or maybe it doesn't by still it was kind of fun writing this up and trying to think what Jack would do and say and what Pitch would do and say in response to Jack's actions or words.**

**So that's it for this one shot, my readers! Later!**


End file.
